Page 10 of Filthy Beautiful
He stood in the bedroom doorway, where he’d been watching me shovel the contents of his underwear drawer into a garbage bag—with tongs—while I sang. My heart slammed in my chest and if I’d been holding a gun I probably would’ve shot him. Accidentally, of course.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Just coming home,” he drawled, totally cool. “Been here since Saturday.” Then he lounged his muscular, godlike body against the doorframe. All gorgeous and fucking full of himself and so goddamn aloof—and barely looking at me. Instead, he looked around the room.
And here’s the thing about that. Xander looked ateveryone. At least, everyone female.
Except me.
He did, however, look at my hand. Or the item dangling from the end of my tongs. His eyebrow rose, and I glanced down, expecting one of his nasty, skimpy boxer briefs… but no. It was a teeny, tiny… mankini? Like a skimpy men’s swimsuit—with a T-back.
Yuck!
I tossed it in the garbage bag.
“I thought you were on tour or something,” I snapped, probably blushing a dozen shades of fuchsia. Same color as the mankini, unfortunately.
“Got back into town last week.”
“So?” I glared at him, while trying not to actually look at him. His broad shoulders, his muscular arms crossed over his chest… the gorgeous artwork of his tattoos, all down his arms and up his neck. His dark, slicked-back hair and his perfectly trimmed beard. Grayish-bluish-greenish eyes.
That stupid, smug, beautiful face.
“So,” he said, “I came to see Cary.”
That sexy, manly voice that made my insides quiver.
“You’ve seen him?”
“Yeah. On Saturday.”
Okay; that irked me. Badly.
I hadn’t seen my brother, in person, in weeks. It irritated me that Xander got to see him more often than I did, in general. I knew this was because he and Xander were both musicians and they’d been in a band together; they connected about music, so Cary let him in a bit more. Music was pretty much my brother’s life, and Xander could talk to him about that in ways that I couldn’t. I wasn’t exactly a rock star drummer.
I tried to tell myself it was just about the music. It wasn’t personal.
“Well, you’re not staying here,” I informed him.
“Actually, I am. I always stay here.”
“You haven’t stayed here inweeks, andI’mstaying here.”
He glanced at the open drawer next to me. “Looks likemyunderwear in there, so.”
“It’smybrother’s house.”
He sauntered into the bedroom. “Well, there’s two rooms. I’m sure the couch is comfy. Feel free to move in. I’m not leaving.” Then he lounged on the bed, stuffing a decorative pillow behind his back and crossing his bare feet, like he owned the place.
I’d already stripped off the bedcovers and he didn’t seem to notice or care. He pulled out his phone and directed his attention at it. Because clearly, it was far more interesting than the live human being standing right in front of him.
I still stared at him for a lot longer than I needed to. Xander always wore loose jeans and tight, sleeveless shirts, and he looked delectable in them. Today the jeans were faded and ripped, showing skin. The shirt was white, and it hugged his sculpted body the way every woman who looked at him probably wanted to.
Stupid, sexy manslut.
I knew exactly what Xander was, and it fucking annoyed me to no end. And not in the way you might think. It annoyed me because, even being the pig that he was, he’d never looked atmeas anything more than his best friend’s kid sister.
I peeled off my rubber gloves and tossed them at him. They bounced off his chest and rolled in dejected rubber balls onto the bed next to him. He glanced up, giving me a blank look. At least he looked me in the eyes. But only in the eyes.
